


Save Water, Shower Together

by Spoodlemonkey



Series: Inktober/Goretober/Kinktober [28]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub, M/M, PWP, Riding, Yes you read that right, slight D/s, some come play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 05:06:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21010208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/pseuds/Spoodlemonkey
Summary: They’re here because Ovechkin had tugged him aside after and, smirking, had offered him another chance to sit in his lap.Jamie had told him to go fuck himself.And yet he’s somehow still here.Or, Jamie takes Ovechkin for a ride.





	Save Water, Shower Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreyMichaela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/gifts).

> ...I'm on my eight hour of hockey and my brain has turned to mush. I am so sorry. Based on the game tonight when Jamie ended up in the Caps bench, in Ovi's lap and Ovi just kind of sat there and grinned at him instead of helping him up. I live for moments like this.
> 
> Apparently all I can write lately is porn??? Unbeta'd so any mistakes are my own. Don't own.
> 
> For GreyMichaela because she is a terrible enabler and her goalie is beating up my goalie right now.

Jamie’s thighs are burning. 

His breath keeps getting caught in his chest. He feels like he’s been bag skated- exhausted, sore from a long, disappointing game. His thighs are shaking with the effort of lifting himself up, but it’s worth it for the long drag, for the way Ovechkin’s cock lights him up from the inside out.

His rim is stretched wide around Ovechkin’s cock, sore in a way he’ll be feeling for the next few days. It’s been awhile since he’s done this. He probably used too much lube, the squelch of it loud when he lifts himself up, up, up, until only the head of Ovechkin’s cock holds him open, and then sinks back down with a groan. He’d fingered himself open while Ovechkin had watched, fisting his cock lazily from the head of the bed with that same gap toothed smile that had gotten Jamie in bed with him in the first place. He’d thought about wiping the smile off his face- of kneeling between his legs and sucking his cock down until his long fingers were buried in Jamie’s hair, head thrown back, gasping, begging and pleading to come. 

That’s not why they’re here. 

They’re  _ here _ because Ovechkin had tugged him aside after and, smirking, had offered him another chance to sit in his lap. 

Jamie had told him to go fuck himself.

And yet he’s somehow still here. 

Backstrom’s there, a silent presence, sprawled out on the bed next to them. Of course he is- how could they have one without the other? He doesn’t ask Jamie to ride him, or suck his cock, just watches, expression intense, as Jamie sinks down on his Captains cock. 

He’s panting, his own cock so hard it hurts, bobbing as he bounces, but he keeps his hands off it for now, leans back and braces himself on Ovechkin’s big thighs. He bites his lip against the drag of the cock against his rim, at the sparks it sends through him. Like this, stuffed full, using Ovechkin’s cock to chase his own release, he can’t remember why he doesn’t do this more often.

There’s the slick sound of kissing and he watches, eyes half lidded, as Backstrom licks his way into Ovechkin’s mouth, thick fingers tangled in the short, silver hair, so tightly it looks painful. The same intensity they bring to the ice, they bring to the kiss. 

_ It’s really fucking hot. _

Backstrom murmurs something, too quiet to hear, but Ovechkin must understand because then he’s sitting up, where he’s been almost  _ passive _ through all of this, and, digging his fingers into the meat of Jamie’s ass, starts fucking him.

Jamie howls at the sudden change as Ovechkin’s cock unerringly seeks out his prostate. Blunt nails dig into his skin, bounce him down on his cock as Ovechkin plants his feet on the mattress, fucking up into him in short, vicious thrusts that have him panting. He loses his grip on Ovechkin’s thighs, hands flying out, desperately trying to find something to hold on to. Backstrom captures his hands, leads them to Ovechkin’s shoulders, and he latches on desperately. 

“Does he feel good, Sasha?” 

Jamie doesn’t think he’s meant to hear the sweet, soft tone.

“So tight.” Ovechkin grunts, teeth bared and Jamie wildly thinks about telling him to bite at him, to mark him up, but he has to walk into the locker room in two days and isn’t sure how he could explain it away. 

“Maybe we invite him back.” Backstrom pins Jamie with a searing look. He isn’t sure who the words are meant for. “Share him, see if he can take both of us.”

Jamie sucks in a sharp breath and reaches for his cock. That's...that’s a lot to think about.

He isn’t sure how long he can last like this, thighs burning, shaking- they’re going to give out soon, he’s sure. His body feels flushed, overheated, as he fists his cock, hand flying faster, desperate to come before his legs give out. 

He doesn’t want it to end, is desperate to keep going, but three long periods on the ice have left him sore, exhausted, and rapidly reaching his limit.

“I don’t think he’s going to last much longer.” Backstrom comments, louder this time. He runs his fingers casually through Ovechkin’s hair. “Better come, Sasha.” 

Jamie shouts as he’s suddenly spilled backwards, Ovechkin’s cock slipping out briefly, before he’s fucking smoothly back in. He presses Jamie’s legs back towards his chest, teeth bared in a mockery of a smile as he fucks him hard and fast. Jamie gets his fist around his cock again, grip slick with how wet he is. He’s so close he can taste it, pressure building higher and higher until he feels like he’s going to burst. He’s ready to demand, plead,  _ something,  _ but Ovechkin is looking down, between their bodies. With a jolt Jamie realizes he’s watching his cock sink into Jamie’s body over and over. 

Jamie’s coming before he realizes it. 

It crashes over him as he spills over his hand, his stomach, his chest. It drags him under, tosses him head over heels and leaves him gasping as he breaks the surface again.

It’s only a few more hard thrusts before Ovechkin is grinding deep, coming with a shudder. 

He stays there for a moment, breathing hard, before gripping the condom and easing out. Backstrom is there to ease Jamie’s legs back down as Ovechkin disposes of the condom. He’s still in his boxers and when Jamie turns his head, his cock is pressing hard and insistent against the fabric.

“Do you, uh, want me to…?” He tries to gesture but his arms just kind of flop weakly against the mattress. He hasn’t come this hard in  _ ages. _

Backstrom offers a smirk.

“I’m not sure you’re up to it.” Jamie opens his mouth to protest, instead shushed as Backstrom eases the band of his boxers down under his balls. “Relax.” He murmurs, sliding his hand over his cock. 

He pauses, holds his hand out and Jamie takes the hint, licking at the palm of his hand, sucking on the fingers pressed into his mouth. Backstrom presses down on his tongue, presses his mouth open and Jamie’s cock tries  _ very _ hard to go for another round. 

Finally, Backstrom pulls his hand back, wrapping it around his cock again. He strips his cock fast and tight, apparently done with teasing. Jamie watches, mouth watering, and can’t help but hope there will be a next time.

When he comes, it’s nearly silent. He jerks his cock onto Jamie’s chest, adding to the mess already there, running the head of his cock through it. The bed dips on Jamie’s other side and then Ovechkin is there, arms braced on Jamie’s stomach, mouth closing over the messy head of Backstrom’s cock like it’s the sweetest of treats. 

Jamie can’t breathe, watching as Ovechkin sucks lovingly, licking Backstrom’s cock clean. He has to be pulled off with a hiss when it becomes too much. 

Jamie lets his head fall back against the mattress and tries to remember how to breathe. 

“You ruined him, Nicke.” Ovechkin teases from somewhere near Jamie’s legs.

“I need a shower.” Jamie somehow manages to find his voice, although he hasn’t figured out how he’s going to get his legs to hold him long enough to get clean.

Ovechkin chuckles and Jamie jerks as a hand runs teasingly through the mess on his stomach. He tilts his head up to see Ovechkin wipe his hand carelessly on the sheets. 

“Shower together, save water?” He quirks an eyebrow at Jamie, expression smug. It’s as infuriating as it is attractive. Backstrom pushes to his feet, and he slides his boxers off, heading for the washroom. They both watch him go.

“Well?” Ovechkin grins, offering him a hand.

Fuck it, Jamie thinks. Have to get clean at some point.

He accepts the hand. 


End file.
